Page 21 of Spearcrest Queen

When we return tothe hotel after dinner that night, our room welcomes us back with its soft, silver glow. Outside, it’s started snowing, fragile flakes drifting in windswept swaths through the night sky, melting the moment they touch the smooth black mirror of the river. Our things are already mostly packed, waiting near the door, a reminder that this is our final night of reprieve from real life.

Evan drops his coat onto the ottoman and turns to me, his eyes full of quiet anticipation. I feel the weight of the day pressing down on me, our stolen peace as fragile as any of the snowflakes spinning through the night outside the window, my chestful of unspoken words suffocating me.

“Sophie,” he says, his voice gentle but steady, as he stands in front of me to unbutton my coat. “Can we talk about—”

“Not now,” I interrupt, shaking my head. “Evan.Please.”

He holds my gaze for a long moment, as if searching my eyes for glimpses of the truths I’m withholding. I don’t want to be a coward, Iwilltell him the truth, just—not now. Not yet.

He lets out a strange sigh when I kiss him, hungry yet wry, like I’m giving him something he wants, but in the most predictable of ways. And maybe I am. But I need this, and he does too, I know it.

Isn’t this the one thing we’ve always had in common? This yawning, desperate hunger for each other’s touch? This addictionto one another’s presence and body and skin, no matter how painful?

We undress in silence, the distant city lights outside casting shifting patterns on the walls. When he pulls me close, his touch is tender, his lips brushing mine with a softness that makes my chest ache almost as much as the ache between my legs. I let out a low, husky sigh without even realising when his mouth finds the delicate crook where my jaw meets my neck, and I slide my hand between us, fingers sliding over the hard bulge pressing against me.

Evan stops, then. I try to pull him back to me, but he pushes me away by my hips, strong hands keeping me still as he stares down at me, eyes dark, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“I don’t want to do this if you’re only going to forget about it.”

“I won’t,” I pant. “I swear. I only had one drink with dinner. I’m not even tipsy.”

He nods, and pushes me slowly back to the bed, forcing me to step backwards, hands gripping his elbows for balance.

“I don’t want to do this unless you actually want it,” he says, voice low and deep, almost gravelly.

“I do.” I swallow. “I want this, Evan, I—”

“I don’t want to do this,” he continues, cutting me off, “unless you wantme.”

“Evan.” My voice is a breath, a sigh, a whimper. “I do. I want you. Now.”

He lets out a noise low in his throat, something that sounds like approval and maybe even anger. He pushes me back onto the bed, palm pressed to my breastbone, forcing me to lie flat as he descends upon me, caging my body in with his. He kisses me slowly, taking his time, lips lingering on my neck, my breasts, my stomach, my legs. He kisses the little purple bruises peppered along my innerthighs.

And when I’m writhing and bucking my hips under his hands for some contact, some friction—anything—he finally lowers his mouth on me. He makes me come with his gentle, relentless tongue, and when he settles his hips against mine to bury himself inside me, it’s not hard and desperate and punishing, it’s slow and deliberate and it feels so good my entire body trembles like jelly beneath his.

Evan comes with a hoarse cry, pulling me to him, kissing me deep and tender, holding me right against his chest even as his hips move without control. He holds me like something precious and brittle, something he never wants to let go of.

Afterwards, I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as we both regain our breaths. His hand trails lazily through long strands of my hair, and when he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“I love you.” His breath is warm against my temple. “I love you so much.”

The words land softly, but they feel heavy and terrible and important. I close my eyes, willing myself to hold on to the warmth they bring, the fragile, fleeting comfort of being loved.

“I love you too,” I say, and it’s true—real enough right here, in this pocket of time we’ve created in the middle of the rocky expanse of our lives. And for a few heartbeats, it feels good to say it, to tell him.

Evan exhales, his breath warm against my temple. His fingers tighten in my hair, his heartbeat steady and sure beneath my cheek.

And then the silence settles, and I know it’s time.

“I don’t think we should keep seeing each other while I’m at Harvard.”

10

Dirty Secret

Evan

For a moment, allI can do is stare at Sophie. My mind scrambles to understand what I’ve just heard, to reshape her words into something that doesn’t end with her leaving me.

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